


The Emerald Meadows

by Snowgrouse



Series: Of Roses Unfurling [15]
Category: Thief of Bagdad (1940), كتاب ألف ليلة وليلة | Kitaab 'alf layla wa-layla | One Thousand and One Nights
Genre: Animal Death, Animals, Cats, Death, Death Rituals, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Gen, Islam, Magic, Magic-Users, Muslim characters, Mysticism, Romance, Souls, Spiritual, The Golden Age of Islam, The Thousand And One Nights - Freeform, Wakes & Funerals, sorcery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7704694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowgrouse/pseuds/Snowgrouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaffar's family comes to terms with the death of Yassamin's cat. Zumurrud's led a long, happy life but is finally crushed by age and illness; it falls to Jaffar to make her passing as painless and as merciful as possible. Yet none could ever have expected to see what they now do as a cat's soul is freed from its mortal bonds by their loving hands.</p><p>
  <i>Softly, Yassamin caresses the cat's head. "Can she hear us?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It startles Jaffar that she doesn't peek inside of Zumurrud's mind herself, even if she could've easily done so: he realises Yassamin's in too much pain and anguish to even attempt it. Her heart is breaking for Zumurrud, for the children, for Jaffar; yet, Jaffar knows that now, it is he who has to take control of this moment. It is he who now has to be the strong father and wise man who leads his family through this with his wisdom, his compassion, his care.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Therefore, even if he is close to weeping himself, he steels himself--he has to be able to concentrate for the sake of easing Zumurrud's pain, that of everyone in the room.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He brings his hand to Zumurrud's head and brushes it with his fingertips, so small and fragile underneath his huge hands.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Emerald Meadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noki the cat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Noki+the+cat).



> Takes place in the Of Roses Unfurling 'verse, after Autumn's Fruit Bitter and Sweet, but can be read as a standalone. The day before writing this, yours truly lost her beloved cat of 12 years and wondered how Jaffar and Yassamin (and their kids in particular) would come to terms with such a loss. So it was a piece of therapeutic writing, but also an exploration of how something like that would be handled by a medieval Persian family of magicians. And how a cat's soul must look like, if you could see it and experience it free from the limitations of the flesh.
> 
> ***
> 
> **In loving memory of Noki, The Black Beast of Aaargh, 1999-2016.**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Rest in peace. (Oh, and swat that Veidt fellow on the arse for me, will you? Thanks.)

***

"Father! Father! Come, quick!" Salsabil cries and jumps into Jaffar's bed, shaking his shoulder. 

Jaffar blinks, bleary from having been woken up from his sleep. "What is it?" he mumbles in irritation, rubbing his eyes; however, even through his grogginess, he can tell Salsabil is deeply upset. And when Salsabil is upset, it has to be a grave matter indeed: Anwar is the likelier one of them to be inconsolable after having stubbed his toe, whereas Salsabil always grits her teeth and bears things to the point of foolhardiness. Therefore, this has to be a matter serious.

"It's Zumurrud!" Salsabil wails, her hair frizzy and her plaits askew; normally, she never leaves her room without her little veil and cap. "She's had some kind of fit; she's panting! You must help her!"

"Of course," Jaffar murmurs and crawls out of bed; Salsabil drags him out into the corridor so fast he doesn't even have time to put on his slippers. 

"And before you say it, Father, I know she is twenty," Salsabil snaps without even looking at Jaffar, her voice wavering from emotion as she repeats what Jaffar has told her. "I know, I know. Magic can only _extend_ a life, can only repair, can only heal, but it is God who has decided a life's length in His book, I know, I know..." and now she is choking upon tears, spitting out as she does these words, hating them from the bottom of her heart. 

Jaffar hates them, too--if only Salsabil knew how he had plunged himself into dark magics, seen things human beings should not see in his desire to bring back those he'd lost! He'd come so close to losing his mind, losing his senses, losing his soul; parts of him still bear scars from a spirit-battle he'd barely dragged himself out of alive. 

And now, as they make their way towards the harem, he feels a tug upon those scars, Salsabil's raw and terrified emotions flooding his half-awake consciousness; he has not yet had time to erect his usual mental barriers and therefore, his soul is vulnerable, bare.

"Do not mistake me, my child: I, too, resent death," he rasps as he follows Salsabil into her room, the one she's only just moved into after having decided she no longer wanted to have her studies interrupted by Anwar. 

But it is Anwar Salsabil had left to tend to the cat; Yassamin and Zahra are already by his side, having been woken up by the commotion themselves. Zumurrud lies between them on a blanket, Anwar petting her long white fur with a trembling hand. He is so very desperately trying to be brave, Jaffar can tell; it seems for a moment that the petting movement is all that holds Anwar together, so he doesn't tell him to stop just yet.

For there would be little sense in examining the cat, now, Jaffar having made his final diagnosis of her but days ago: these past two weeks, they had all noticed Zumurrud had been sleeping more, barely eating, and had ceased to groom herself. She had started to lie down with her head between her paws, her body extended, her ribcage rising and falling visibly with her breathing, the way it does when a cat is purring: however, now, she had to make this huge effort but to maintain ordinary breathing. Many times, Jaffar had witnessed this phenomenon with his own cats; immediately, he'd recognised it for a weakness of the heart and the lungs, both having become too weak for the cat to survive much longer. 

He had told the children this, had told Yassamin this--Zumurrud had always been Yassamin's cat first and foremost, born to one of her mother's cats when she had been but a maiden--but even if they've had several days to come to terms with the idea of Zumurrud's leaving them soon, all are still in shock and tears.

For now, that moment has indeed come: even in the light of the single lamp Yassamin has brought them, it is plain to see that the light in Zumurrud's once-smaragdine eyes, the ones she'd been named after, is fading. 

Softly, Yassamin caresses Zumurrud's head. "Can she hear us?" she asks, turning to Jaffar. 

It startles Jaffar that Yassamin does not peek inside of Zumurrud's mind herself, even if she could have easily done so: he feels for Yassamin's consciousness first, and realises she is in too much pain and anguish to even attempt it. Her heart is breaking for Zumurrud, for the children, for Jaffar; yet, Jaffar knows that now, it is he who has to take control of this moment. It is he who now has to be the strong father and wise man who leads his family through this with his wisdom, his compassion, his care.

Therefore, even if he is close to weeping himself, he steels himself--he has to be able to concentrate for the sake of easing Zumurrud's pain, that of everyone in the room. He brings his hand to Zumurrud's forehead and brushes it with his fingertips, she so small and fragile underneath his huge hands; he pets her for a while, feeling for her. 

"She can barely hear us, but she can still recognise us," he murmurs. "She is in great pain," he croaks, his own chest now constricting, squeezing terribly as he feels what the cat does: the sign of an impending heart attack. 

With a violent psychic push, he separates himself from the cat so that his own heart will not be swept along with hers into death; all look at him askance as he jerks back and kneels there, panting, his hands claws upon his thighs.

He blinks tears from his eyes and looks at the children, the pain on their faces--now experiencing Death for the first time in their lives--washing over him a wave that he can barely keep at bay. "I am sorry. There is not much more I can do, except ease her passing."

"Then, do it," Yassamin says, swallowing her tears as she pets Zumurrud. "I would not have her suffer any longer."

Zahra lowers her head, opens her hands and begins to recite the creed; the children look at each other, then at Jaffar, wondering if they should do the same. 

"Let us all pray it silently, within our minds," Jaffar whispers. "Yassamin, she has always been your cat; therefore, keep doing what you are doing now," he says gently as he places his hand upon Zumurrud's chest, over her labouring heart. "Come," he tells the children, encouraging them to pet Zumurrud, too, gentle and slow and tender so that she is surrounded by their loving touch from all sides. He extends this invitation to Zahra, but she shakes her head with a graceful smile, not interrupting her prayer for a moment. Jaffar understands; he sends to her his gratitude and continues with a nod. "Let us wrap Zumurrud in our love the way Zahra is now wrapping us with her prayer, the way God at all times wraps His Creation in His Mercy," he recites.

And it is as one body, as one love that they now hold Zumurrud's little body, blanketing her in all their love, their care: tears and sighs and prayers fall upon her white fur as Jaffar begins to send to her his soothing magic. He can feel everyone's memories of Zumurrud now pouring into his mind: here, a little anger and regret in Salsabil's mind at Jaffar not being able to save Zumurrud now, the way he'd once rescued her from drowning in a water-tank--but even that regret is soon enfolded into kindness, Salsabil forcing herself to focus on love and compassion instead. Yassamin, her tears flowing in streams down her face, her breath hot next to Jaffar's cheek, remembering the way she'd played with Zumurrud as a kitten; Anwar, the joy he'd had in constructing Zumurrud complex feathered toys that had driven her mad with delight. Zahra, all prayer, the golden letters of _La ilaha illa-llah_ spinning around them a whirling circle of blessing, the letters curling like cats' tails; Jaffar himself with his hand over the little heart that had given them so much love over so many years, far longer than most cats are given. 

They have truly been blessed to have known her, he tells Zumurrud; so many games, so many happy purrs and butts and even the scrapes, they had all loved, loved. Love, love he sends to her, now pouring it a stream into her bones, her flesh, relaxing her muscles; little by little, with this love he slows down her breathing, her heartbeat. 

Yet now, as Zumurrud's soul is revealed from underneath the layers of pain and anguish and fear, even Jaffar could not have expected seeing what he now sees, what they all feel: Zumurrud's entire being unfolds before them as pure, unsullied, shining, sincere Love. It is a love unlike the one they are sending her, a love coloured by human emotions, hopes, fears, frustrations, memories: he had always known the love of an animal to be unconditional, more pure than anything human beings could ever give one another, yet to feel the sheer purity of Zumurrud's love now shakes him, shakes everyone in the room into silence. Not even when his soul has mingled with Yassamin's has he ever felt anything like this, and Yassamin feels the same, humbled, awed; she weeps and she weeps as the room is lit by the golden glow of it, a setting sun's light, like that divine light upon the night Anwar and Salsabil's souls had first sparked into life within her womb. Even Zahra's prayer turns silent for a brief while as they are all bathed by Zumurrud's soul as it is severed from all consciousness, all consumed by Love completely released from its bonds, free, free.

And yet with this love comes no judgement, no shame, no regret even at their human failings: there is but acceptance, there is but mercy, there is but joy. Jaffar sobs in gratitude as Zumurrud's heartbeat dies under his hand, his mere hand led by the greater hand of God; Zahra takes up her prayer, now louder, stronger, full of power. All tremble with awe as their hands touch over the cat's body, what is now but the shell Love itself has left behind, rapturous as it surges free, vibrating them all in its joy like the strings of a lute softly strummed; all of it become a song of ecstasy as it surges up towards God, up, up, God. 

The light, the sweet light pulses once, twice, thrice and then it's gone; the room is again lit by but Yassamin's lantern, and Zumurrud, too, is gone.

Softly, slowly, gently, Zahra brings them all back with her prayer; she lowers her voice little by little, until it becomes a whisper. Like water draining from a basin in a whirlpool, Zahra and Jaffar let the power swirl around them for a while, descending little by little until it sinks into the ground and they are all back within their bodies, within their own consciousnesses once more.

"Amen," Jaffar murmurs. 

"Amen," all recite back.

For a long while, there is but silence; Yassamin is the first to break it by kissing Zumurrud's brow. "Goodbye, sweet friend."

Salsabil lets out a wail and hugs Zumurrud, sobbing with her arms around the cat who is no longer there; Jaffar can feel that she knows this, but it would be cruel not to allow Salsabil this. And he needn't say anything: it is Anwar who gently unfolds his sister's hands from around the cat's corpse, kissing both her hands, her mouth, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks. 

"Don't cry, Salsabil," he tells her as he mops her tears with his sleeve. "Zumurrud is in Paradise, now," he says, sniffling himself; he uses his other sleeve to wipe his own face simultaneously with Salsabil's. "With lots of green grass and lots of fat mice!"

Salsabil sighs against Anwar's shoulder. "I know. But _we_ aren't in Paradise yet! She's going to feel so lonely before we get there!"

Yassamin comes to hug both children. "To God, time is no matter. In Paradise, even a century passes by in the blink of an eye, think of it! Zumurrud will not even feel that she's missing us before we're already there, God willing."

"Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight, little ones?" Jaffar asks. "Between your mother and I?" 

"Yes, please," Salsabil says as Yassamin gets up; she clings to her mother's robe like someone much younger.

"I'd like to stay here for a while, with Zahra," Anwar says; Zahra has not risen from her seat yet, the contemplative and pious woman she is. "It is recommended that someone should keep vigil, is it not?" he asks. "Just to make sure."

"You are a good lad," Jaffar says and ruffles his hair. "I doubt they meant children should attend, but all right; just make sure to come to my bedroom before two." It is now one o'clock or so, going by the moon and the stars; he knows they will not fall asleep before that in any case.

"I will," Anwar says and kisses his father's hand. "Run along, I'll take care of it!" he declares.

Before they've even left the room, Anwar has wrapped the blanket around Zumurrud and gone in search of coins to help Zumurrud pay her fare to the afterlife. Where he has read all this, Jaffar doesn't know; he shakes his head and chuckles to himself even as they make their way to the bedroom.

Together with Salsabil and Yassamin, they perform an additional full wash, and an additional set of prayers; they have only just climbed into bed when Anwar arrives and does the same. Usually, when the children have joined them in bed after serious nightmares or something similar, they've struggled to make room for everyone on the bed, arguing for blankets and pillows; however, this time there is no struggling, and all settle down to sleep amicably in respect for Zumurrud's soul. Yet all four of them awaken in the night to sorrow, to tears; all are too tired to speak, but glad they decided to spend the night together, huddling there for comfort.

They sleep long into the morning; it's nearly noon when Jaffar awakes, the children still sleeping soundly beside him. The servants haven't had the heart to come wake them up even for prayers, it seems; but then, it is said that mourning is its own, constant prayer.

However, Yassamin is not there: Jaffar finds her in the cooking alcove, she having retired there for her weeping so as not to awaken him and the children. And as he offers her his embrace, she lets go completely: she weeps out her sorrow violently in a series of full, body-wracking sobs, suffocating her noises into a thick handkerchief. 

_Every morning,_ she thinks at him, even her thoughts juddering with sobs, _every morning I used to wake up to a little thump as Zumurrud jumped into bed with me. Do you remember? How she'd squeeze in between us, and how you were jealous of her at first? As I began to stir into wakefulness this morning, I was waiting for that thump. I opened my eyes and turned around, and realised that little thump would never come. She never jumped into bed, never came to butt at my face, never came to purr at me, never came to declare her love for me. That love she would give, completely unconditional; when, to her, I was the most important person in her life and nevermind husbands and children--oh, Jaffar._

 _I know, I know,_ he tells her, having missed that little weight settling on the bed himself; there is an empty space in his heart where that little thump used to be. _I felt it, too. Have felt it with... what, seven or eight cats, now? And it never gets any easier._

 _I had known her since I was but a maiden,_ Yassamin tells him, weeping openly, now. _Before I even knew you. And yet the love I felt last night, I--Jaffar--how long a way we still have to go before we reach that kind of love! Why is it that a love that pure, a love that could teach us so much is placed within beings with such short lifespans? Why is it that an absolute monster of a man can live to a hundred, and an innocent kitten can die before it's even opened its eyes? Why, my love, why?_

 _I have often thought of it myself, my sweet,_ he whispers into her mind, rocking her in his arms, his own tears running down her hair. _The only reason I can think of is that God wants us to be aware of how fragile love is, how precious it is, by giving it to us in such short bursts as an animal's lifetime. He wants us not to take it for granted, wants us to think of exactly these things--constant reminders on how to better ourselves. Therefore, instead of sitting here and weeping for our sins and our failings, why not rejoice in what we have just witnessed? Not only the purity of Zumurrud's love and all the wonderful things we experienced knowing her, but in what intelligent and kind and compassionate children we have. Look at how beautifully they handled everything last night! If they continue to grow like this in piety and good qualities, they will easily surpass us old sinners by the time they reach puberty!_ he laughs through his tears.

 _I thought of that, too,_ Yassamin thinks back at him. _At how well they took it. Even as Salsabil sobbed with Zumurrud in her arms, I could feel her accepting the loss. She understood it; she understood it completely, intuitively. And yet, one can accept, understand and learn the lesson, but still feel the pain. That pain is what makes us human._

_Absolutely. I would have been terrified had the children not been in pain. I remember how callous Fadl was when my favourite horse--_

Yet, now, Yassamin pushes Jaffar out of her mind. "No more horrible animal fates right now. I do not wish to hear them," she says. "Please."

"I'm sorry," he says and kisses her on the mouth. "You're right. We should be celebrating our lost friend instead," he says and starts to prepare a fire in the little stove. "You go and check on the children while I make some tea. With cat-mint and valerian, just as Zumurrud would've wished. Remember how she used to lick the dregs from the cups and then roll on the floor, ecstatic?"

Yassamin does indeed remember; she sighs and hangs her head, still not moving from her seat. "I suppose that's how it is," she says and stares at her handkerchief. "How it has to be."

"What does?" he looks at her over his shoulder as he prepares the kettle.

She laughs and finally looks up at him. "That that's how one moves on. But putting the kettle on and making some tea."

He smiles, his laughter warm, wistful, sad but filled with love. "That's exactly it," he says and wraps his arms around her, embracing her tight. "One cup at a time."

"One cup at a time," she sighs into his shoulder as the bed begins to creak, the children begin to yawn and the kettle begins to stir. "One cup at a time."

***

END

***

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr promo post for the fic [here.](http://aikainkauna.tumblr.com/post/148604937438/fic-the-emerald-meadows-jaffarprincess-gen)


End file.
